Indebted
by Spun
Summary: Sequel to Payment. When Magnus told him "In nine or ten years, come find me and then we'll talk," he probably hadn't meant "Nearly get yourself killed by a Greater Demon so I have to heal you again." Alec was better at this when he was nine.


**Indebted**

**Disclaimer: **Obviously _The Mortal Instruments_ doesn't belong to me. Do I look like I have loads of money?

**Warnings:** None.

**Notes:** This... has been a _long_ time in coming. The first incarnation of this sequel was a bitch to write and ended up being scrapped when CC posted the 'Kissed' story online, because they took place at the same time. After that, this ended up on the back burner... and then a few days ago I suddenly got all these ideas and, well, here you go.

If you haven't read _Payment_, go back and do so before reading this, because it'll make fuck-all sense otherwise.

Finally, if you keep up with notesfrommagnusbane and notesfromaleclightwood on tumblr and you're familiar with Alec's, um, 'sexual proclivities', there's a line in here you might find particularly amusing. :D

* * *

When the burning finally stopped, Alec was pretty sure it was because he had finally died.

Being dead wasn't all it was cracked up to be. For one thing, though his lungs didn't seem to be filled with hot needles anymore, he was still aching horribly; for another, it wasn't even silent. He could hear _breathing_. Heavy, even breaths, like someone asleep. Thinking properly was a bit of a struggle, but he needed to figure out where he was, so he gave it a shot. He was lying on something – a mattress. Not a nice, soft mattress, like the one on his bed, but it wasn't terribly uncomfortable. So he was lying on a bed, on his back. He'd never liked sleeping on his back. His shoulders usually started to hurt after a while, and then his neck would lock up, and later when he sparred with Jace he would get his ass kicked all over the training room. Without giving it any thought, Alec rolled onto his side.

The pain, which had quieted to a dull roar, burst back into life so suddenly and severely that he gasped, which his battered ribs didn't take too kindly to. His stomach surged into his throat.

_Oh,_ he thought. _Never mind, I'm definitely alive._

And then he promptly retched over the edge of the bed.

It was almost funny, because he couldn't remember actually eating anything recently – he'd been woken up far too early to want breakfast, and after finding out they'd be trekking out once again to satisfy Jace's insatiable need for danger, he hadn't had much of an appetite. So there shouldn't have been anything in his stomach for him to throw up, but there was, and from the sour, coppery taste in his mouth, he was going to bet it was mostly blood.

Even worse than that lovely little realization was the fact that it _hurt_. Every sharp, heaving gasp of air he took in jammed knives into his chest and yanked his ribs apart. His lungs, which appeared to be working again, didn't appreciate this brutal treatment and seized up. He tried to stop retching so he could start breathing again, but didn't make too much progress. It would have been nothing short of impossible if it wasn't for the warm hand that curled around his bare shoulder and squeezed.

"Deep breaths, darling," a voice murmured.

And just like that, everything stopped.

Alec sucked in air, choked, gagged, and repeated the sequence a few more times before his lungs remembered what they were supposed to be doing and expanded properly. The pain slowly became manageable. The dizzy, lightheaded feeling that had been creeping up on him dissipated, leaving him to just inhale, exhale, and try to push down the nausea coiling in his stomach.

Then the voice came again, sounding a fair bit more annoyed this time. "I _knew_ I shouldn't have worn these shoes," the speaker complained. He sounded familiar, but Alec couldn't put a name or face to him. There was a soft _snap_, a cool breeze ruffled Alec's hair, and the smell of blood and bile vanished. "At least they weren't new." The hand was still on his shoulder, thumb sweeping in a gentle arc across Alec's collarbone. "Are you breathing? You need to continue doing that – not just for the oxygen, but because I need to make sure your lungs aren't going to collapse again."

"Again," Alec mumbled, wincing when his raw throat _burned_. Had he been screaming? He could remember _trying_ to scream and not being able to force any sound out. But sore throat aside, the prospect of his lungs collapsing was more than slightly disconcerting, and that was enough for him to force his heavy eyelids open.

He wasn't sure what he had expected. He'd known it couldn't have been a Silent Brother, since it was rather difficult for them to speak out loud, what with the whole 'mouth sewn shut' thing. He would have recognized his siblings or Hodge immediately, and, while he wasn't childish enough to expect his parents to drop everything and come home just to be by his side, he'd still _hoped_ they would, but they were unsurprisingly not present. So that left pretty much no one.

No one, except for Magnus Bane.

There was, Alec decided instantly, _nothing_ quite like waking up from a nightmare of pain and poison blazing like acid through his veins to see a warlock crouched next to his bed, twisting a lock of glitter-speckled hair around one long, tan finger, dressed like he'd just walked out of a nightclub. He should have looked out of place in the drab infirmary, but, somehow, it was as if he was absolutely perfect, and the rest of the world needed to change to suit _him_.

Honestly, Alec wasn't quite sure what to think of Magnus. When they'd all left his party, he and Jace had gotten halfway down the stairs before Alec realized Jace was still dragging him along and shook off his hand. It was embarrassing enough that he'd frozen like that without being yanked around like a stubborn puppy. Jace had swiftly turned to him with that damned insufferable smirk and said, "Sparkles back there wants to date you."

"No, he doesn't," Alec said immediately, since there was just _no_ way something like that could ever happen. Everyone wanted Jace. Jace was clever and attractive and sarcastic and the single brilliant flame in a sea of flickering candles. Alec was quiet and mousy and not anyone's idea of a good boyfriend. "No one does."

Then he cringed, because he hadn't meant to say that last part out loud, but Jace just said, "Oh, ye of little faith," and gave him a shove to keep him moving as they'd reached the door. After that, Alec had been too preoccupied with Isabelle, who'd transitioned from her fun-happy-drunk phase to her less pleasant weepy-drunk phase, to think about Magnus anymore.

But the thing about Magnus – the thing that struck him before he noticed the flashy clothes and the jewelry and the glitter – was that Alec had the strangest feeling they'd met before.

He was drawn back into reality when Magnus took his hand off Alec's shoulder and sat down in a squashy armchair he'd drawn up next to the bed. "Welcome back to the land of the partially cognizant," he said.

Partially cognizant. Well, that was better than _dead_, he supposed, although he couldn't quite figure out how he'd escaped that fate. Alec closed his eyes again – the bright, stark lighting in the infirmary never failed to give him a headache – and rasped, "You're that warlock. From the party."

"I'm _that warlock_," Magnus muttered, almost mockingly. "Yes, dear, I'm _that warlock_. I thought I'd made a bigger impression."

Alec opened his mouth to apologize (though he wasn't quite sure what for), but Magnus's palm on his forehead froze the words in his throat. His hand was very soft. "Never mind that. You've still got a bit of a fever, but it's not bad – it was so high earlier that I was afraid your brain would end up more scrambled than an egg. How do you feel?"

"Sore," Alec murmured. His chest ached at even the slightest movement. Were it possible for him to stop breathing just to give his ribs a break, he would have gladly done so. "Tired. Sick."

"You probably swallowed a lot of blood." There was a screech as Magnus shoved his chair back along the warped floorboards. Alec cracked open an eye to see the warlock settling his elbows on the edge of the mattress, chin propped up on his hands. "Blood irritates the stomach – unless you're a vampire, obviously. And while I think everything in your stomach found its way onto my shoes, better safe than sorry. Hold still a moment."

Alec held still (because there really wasn't anything else he could do), and a few whispered words in a language he couldn't comprehend later, he felt like something very warm had been poured into his stomach – and then the feeling vanished as quickly as it had come, taking the nausea with it. "Better?" Magnus said.

"Much… thanks." Now that he was no longer in danger of trying to expel his internal organs, Alec sank down into the pillow and tried to breathe steadily. "You healed me," he said. He'd meant it to be a question, but it hadn't come out as one, and he supposed it wasn't really something he couldn't answer himself anyway. He doubted the High Warlock of Brooklyn was just making a social call.

"Yes, I did. I de-poisoned you, repaired your lungs, put your ribcage back together, and poured four pints of blood into you," Magnus recited, as casually as someone reading off a grocery list. "Mind you, it wasn't as easy as I made it sound – _both _of your lungs collapsed from the damage, though thankfully not at the same time or you might have been well beyond my help. You're going to hurt for a while, but you won't be drowning in your own blood anymore. You also dislocated your right knee _quite_ spectacularly. I fixed that too and I don't want you walking on it for at least a week. Use crutches. I'd make it longer, but I doubt your Shadowhunter pride would be able to handle that." He scowled, but it didn't reach his eyes, which were bright and full of mirth. Alec wasn't quite sure why Magnus found this so amusing. "And that's all _nothing_ compared to extracting Greater Demon poison from your bloodstream. As far as I can tell, though, you'll be fine and back to hunting creepy-crawlies in no time."

Alec was probably supposed to be pleased about that, but he honestly desired nothing more than a few weeks of uninterrupted rest at the moment. And god knew how much he was going to owe Magnus for doing all that work. Just what he needed – to be indebted to a warlock for the rest of his life. Grimacing, he carefully lifted his head just far enough so he could fold his arm under it, giving him a bit of a cushion between his aching skull and the flat infirmary pillow that he assumed was filled with marbles.

That was when he noticed he wasn't wearing a shirt.

The rational part of his mind recognized that this made perfect sense – he'd gotten his chest ripped open, whoever tried to heal him would have to remove the remains of his shirt to have better access to the wound. There would have been no ogling involved. Not that there was anything to ogle at, really, aside from a bunch of scars. And obviously there was no point in trying to maneuver an unconscious person back into a shirt.

The emotional part of his mind screamed _he is looking at you and you are not wearing a shirt and he sort of flirted with you once and you are not attractive enough for anyone to be staring at you MAKE HIM STOP LOOKING!_

Alec could feel himself starting to flush, and Magnus was still watching him with those beautifully unsettling eyes of his. Desperate for a distraction, he blurted, "Where is everyone?"

"Isabelle went to call Clarissa and your brother. I'm not sure where they've gone gallivanting off to, but I'd better not have to heal _them_ too."

Alec's first instinct was to get up, find Isabelle, and then hunt down his wayward brother before he got himself into even more trouble, but his second instinct bludgeoned the first over the head and demanded he remain in bed. So he stayed where he was and said, "What about Hodge?"

Magnus looked a bit blank. "He was the one who wrote me," he recalled slowly, "but I haven't seen anyone but your sister. Maybe he's not here."

"He can't _not_ be here," Alec said, but dropped the subject. Hodge had spent _hours_ tending to him after he'd been brought back to the Institute – he was probably sleeping or something. "He wrote to you?"

"How did you think I knew you were hurt? I haven't got a tracking beacon on you… although, I might have to consider that if you plan on making yourself a target for Greater Demons more often."

"_No_," Alec said flatly. He rolled over onto his back, wincing at the pain that twisted through and between his ribs like a child playing on a jungle gym, pressed his palms against his eyes, and shivered. The air in the infirmary was cool, making his skin prickle with goosebumps. He complained all the time about how cold it was in here and nobody listened – nobody ever listened to him, not even when he was suggesting that maybe the best way to wake up the giant demonic lizard was _not_ to poke it in the eye and yell, "Hey, ugly!" Jace had deserved everything he'd gotten that night.

"Are you cold?" Magnus asked.

Alec took his hands away from his eyes. "Yeah," he mumbled. "It's always freezing in here…" _and I'm not wearing a shirt_, he added mentally, too afraid to voice that thought aloud in case it drew Magnus's attention to his current state of shirtlessness. He folded his arms across his chest self-consciously, which wasn't easy considering that his left arm didn't seem inclined to move – he'd be surprised if his shoulder hadn't completely stiffened by tomorrow – but he managed, giving Magnus a lot less to look at in case he decided to look. At least he was still wearing his pants, even if they were covered in dried blood and ripped up one leg to expose his recently-dislocated knee.

Magnus smiled. "I can fix that." He leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on the mattress, and snapped his fingers.

Something soft promptly landed on Alec's face.

"Whoops," Magnus said mildly. "I apologize, I'm tired. My aim's a bit off."

Alec lifted the folds of fabric off his face, about to shake the blanket out to its proper length, but stopped when he saw it in the light. He'd assumed Magnus had just picked something at random and delivered it to his head. Somehow, Magnus had not only gotten a blanket from Alec's room, he'd given him the only one he really ever wanted – his quilt. Alec was _pathetically_ attached to that thing. He'd had it for literally as long as he could remember. Jace had mockingly referred to it as his 'security blanket' for three years until Alec snapped, whacked him in the mouth with Isabelle's hair straightener, and chipped one of his front teeth. He'd shut up after that, leaving Alec and his quilt in peace.

_Coincidence_, he told himself.

But for the first time, he really made himself _look_ at Magnus. The warlock was still draped over the chair like he owned it, examining his nails with a critical eye, seemingly paying no attention to Alec. It was all so _familiar_. They had done this before, he _knew_ it, he just couldn't remember when…

"_I'm the warlock your father called to heal you."_

"Oh my god," Alec said faintly. Magnus glanced up. "You – oh my _god_," he repeated, his voice reaching a pitch he hadn't been able to reach since he was about eleven. "That was _you_?"

Magnus's grin could've put the Cheshire Cat to shame. "We have _got_ to stop meeting like this."

Alec flung the quilt back over his face.

Then, realizing that had been a rather stupid idea, he took it off, unfolded it, covered himself as thoroughly as possible without sitting up (Magnus helpfully tugged the end down over his bare feet), and retreated again. He was going to _die_. He'd survived multiple near-fatal demon attacks, Greater Demon poison, and eight years of Isabelle's cooking, and what would kill him was nothing more than pure embarrassment.

The memories, sparse and fuzzy though they were, came back to him with startling speed. He remembered traveling uptown with his father on the subway. They'd met Beth and Jason, who had lived on the Lower East side until Alec was eleven, and walked the rest of the way to where the spider demon had made its nest in an dank alleyway. He'd been told to wait at the end of the alley and just watch, but he couldn't actually _make_ himself watch. The mere idea of seeing his father fight something that could kill him with one good bite was terrifying. He had kept his eyes open just long enough to see them approach the demon with slow, silent steps, fanning out to surround it – then he shut them tight, closing out the ensuing battle, and began mentally counting backwards from a million in French. It distracted him from what was going on around him pretty well. Maybe too well, because he didn't hear the baby demon skittering down the sidewalk until it was too late.

Everything after that blurred together a bit. One moment, he was standing at the mouth of the alley; the next, he found himself on the cement and the spider demon was ripping its fangs from his ribs with a nasty _squelch_ and he was hoping nothing vital had been yanked out before the pain hit and shut down most higher brain function. Beth had leaned over him, stele in hand, her hair tickling his cheek, and his father was there, face snow-white, which was a feat for someone with his complexion, and Alec wanted to tell him that he was okay but the blood bubbling up in his mouth made it difficult to speak. Then, finally, the world went soft and dark.

When he'd woken up, Magnus was there.

Alec had never seen anything like him before. He'd healed the gaping wound in Alec's side down to a long scar, he had only to snap his fingers to get Alec's quilt to appear, and everything about him was strangely captivating, from his glittered hair to the cat fur clinging to his jacket. Alec fell for him so hard and fast he nearly reached terminal velocity. And this brilliantly bizarre warlock didn't just leave as soon as he knew Alec wasn't going to die, he hung around, he talked to him, he was _nice_, and Alec had responded to that by practically _flirting_ with him. He had a sudden, vivid recollection of telling Magnus that he liked his hair, and wanting him to come back and see him… yeah, if the humiliation didn't kill him in the next two minutes, he could probably strangle himself with his quilt.

And if Magnus remembered all that, which he probably did, Alec was going to claim temporary insanity. He'd almost just gotten killed. He was groggy. He wasn't in his right mind. He _definitely_ hadn't been disappointed when he'd woken again and the only person half-asleep in the chair by the bed was his father. There was absolutely no way that he'd decided he was going to marry a man he had only known for ten minutes. When Alec had asked his father what happened to the warlock, Robert said he'd gone home, and Alec suspected that any other questions he had wouldn't get answers – Robert did not look entirely happy about the fact that he'd needed a warlock's help to heal his son. So Alec kept his questions to himself, let Hodge fuss over him, and, when he was deemed fit to be up and moving again, inconspicuously collected the tiny specks of glitter the warlock had left behind and piled them on his dresser like a miniature shrine.

All this, of course, had been well before Alec learned that it wasn't normal for boys to like other boys that much. But even before he came to that conclusion, his foggy memories of the man began to fade and slip to the back of his mind, the glitter was swept off his dresser by one errant brush of his cat's tail and ground into the carpet, and eventually, there was Jace. In the end, he'd come away from the whole mess with nothing more than a scar and a strong phobia of anything with eight legs. He had been pretty upset with his father for putting him through all that, though. Who brought a nine-year-old kid to a hunt without being absolutely sure that there was only one demon to kill? Max was nine and if anyone even _suggested_ bringing him along to their next fight, Alec was going to deck them.

"That was cuter when you were a kid."

"Shut up," Alec mumbled, burrowing further into the quilt. Had he been capable of curling into a little ball without enduring excruciating pain first, he would have. His face was _burning_. If ever there was a time for spontaneous human combustion…. How had he not realized that Magnus was the one who'd healed him almost a decade ago? Sure, he hadn't thought about him for close to five years now, but there couldn't be too many warlocks in the New York metropolitan area who dressed like _that_.

Magnus sighed. Alec heard his feet hit the floor, and then a finger prodded his shoulder. "Come on, now, do we have to go through this again? I prefer talking to _you_, not your blanket."

"I'm going to die." He was being overdramatic, yes, but he really did feel as if he'd never be able to look Magnus in the eyes again.

"Don't do _that_. I put a lot of work into making sure you _didn't_ die, and if you undo it all, I will be very upset." Another poke to the shoulder. "Come out, come out, wherever you are…"

Alec stubbornly ignored him. If he pretended not to exist for long enough, maybe he'd actually cease existing. Or maybe Magnus would leave Alec to his mortification. Either one worked.

Magnus gave a long-suffering sigh. "All right, I didn't want to do this, but… if you don't come out from under there, you'll find your quilt has mysteriously vanished."

"That's cheating," Alec complained, but he had no doubts that the warlock would follow through on his threat, so he pulled the edge of the quilt down below his chin. "And it was _warm_ under there."

"That may be," Magnus said placidly, "but I couldn't see your pretty blue eyes." He smiled when Alec scowled. "Don't look so offended, it was a _compliment_."

Alec didn't reply. They spent a few minutes in silence, Magnus dividing his attention between Alec and his fingernails, Alec studying the ceiling so he wouldn't have to look at Magnus. Then, out of nowhere, Magnus said, "Do you still have that cat of yours? I didn't get to meet her last time. Ophelia, right?"

"Olivia," Alec corrected automatically.

"Close enough."

"It's better than some of the things Jace used to call her," Alec muttered. His poor Olivia, no one had ever been nice to her aside from him… not that she was exactly a ball of sweetness and light herself. Everyone claimed to hate her, but he suspected they were just afraid to be on the business end of her claws, which were always sharp as needles. Even Church wouldn't get too close to her. "She died a few years ago."

"I'm sorry," Magnus said.

He did sound genuinely sorry, which would have been nice if Alec wasn't slightly unnerved by this whole conversation. "Don't you think this is _weird_?" he finally asked.

Magnus tilted his head to the side, the way Hugo did when something shiny was dangled in front of him. "Not really. I'm a warlock, darling. Meeting someone and then seeing them again five, ten, twenty years later isn't uncommon for my kind."

"But –" Alec floundered for a moment, trying to gather all the loose threads of thought in his brain and tie them together into a coherent knot. "I practically _hit_ _on_ you."

"I know. It was adorable, not to mention flattering. And I can't say I'd mind if you did it again," Magnus added cheerfully, grinning in a way that reminded Alec of Jace – except when Magnus smiled like that, Alec didn't feel like he was being insulted.

"Don't hold your breath," he said. He was _not_ going to embarrass himself like that again. Even if Magnus happened to be really, really attractive. "Look, I… I don't need you to stay with me." He didn't really want to be left alone in the cold, empty infirmary, but Magnus probably had better things to do than sit around here. "I'm not nine years old anymore."

"Oh, I know." There was the faintest hint of a leer in Magnus's voice. Alec promptly turned crimson again. "And I know you don't _need_ me to stay, but if I'm not imposing, I'd _like_ to stay."

Alec had the feeling Magnus would do exactly as he pleased anyway, imposing or otherwise. "Why?"

Magnus folded his legs under him and pursed his lips. "Why not?" he said after a moment. "I did drain nearly all of my magic healing you, and magic isn't exactly something I'm short of. Maybe I just want to make sure you're not going to get up and go off fighting something else right away. Or maybe I just like you. Is that so difficult to comprehend?"

The honest answer to that was _yes_, but Alec kept his mouth shut. He tended to swing between two extremes – he stuck to the 'too quiet for anyone to pay attention to' end most of the time, but occasionally he ventured into the 'extreme asshole' zone. That was Jace's territory and he had the charm to pull it off. Alec did not, which was why Clary probably hated him now. He'd been _horrible_ to her and she hadn't really done anything to deserve it. Provided Jace brought her back alive from wherever they'd gotten to, he desperately needed to apologize to her. It wasn't her fault that she was naturally everything Jace wanted, starting with 'female', and it wasn't fair of Alec to blame her for his own inadequacies.

He really _didn't_ see why Magnus would find him likeable. He hardly liked himself most of the time.

"But I'm a Shadowhunter," Alec finally said, "and you're a warlock. We're not supposed to like each other." When all else failed, he fell back on the most basic principles of life that he'd memorized as soon as he was old enough to understand the difference between mundanes and Nephilim and warlocks and such – every species was separated into its own little box, like those plates with the compartments for each kind of food, and they were not supposed to mingle more than absolutely necessary.

Magnus, however, bypassed all except the last three words and sat up straighter, looking delighted. "You _do_ like me, then."

"I do _not_," Alec insisted.

Magnus's expression didn't change in the slightest. He'd probably figured out that Alec was lying through his teeth. Rather than defend his completely fabricated position, though, he sighed and buried his face in the crook of his arm. He was _tired_ – he'd been fighting it, but the fact remained that he'd nearly died a few hours ago and, magical healing or no magical healing, his body wasn't designed to deal with such an onslaught. Keeping the room in focus was becoming difficult. Magnus must have noticed this, because he said, "I'm sorry, I'm keeping you awake, aren't I? Go back to sleep. You need it, and I should go home."

"It's all right," Alec said, "I'm okay, I… " He was cut off by a yawn. "Fine, I'm tired, I admit it. Can you –" The words dried up and he fell silent. It was probably better that he didn't say them, anyway. Not wanting to be alone was stupid and infantile and once he fell asleep he wouldn't care, so he should just shut up and let Magnus get on with his life.

"You know," Magnus said nonchalantly, "this is a comfortable chair. If it happens to go missing at some point, don't be alarmed. It'll be in my den." He slouched down in his seat, picking a piece of lint off his shirt. "But if you don't mind, maybe I'll not get up for a while. I'd rather not fall asleep on the subway and end up somewhere on Staten Island."

"Oh. That's fine, I guess." Unsure whether he should be pleased that he didn't have to sound needy, or frightened that Magnus could read him so easily, Alec hunched down under his quilt, then bit back a yelp because that movement, like every other one he'd made, hurt like hell.

"Are you still in a lot of pain? I can do something about that," Magnus offered.

"I'm all right." His pain tolerance was decent – not on the level of Jace's, but then, Jace surpassed him in a depressing number of ways, so there wasn't really much point in comparing. And this wasn't _nearly_ as bad as the time he'd shattered his femur, when he'd been in so much agony he couldn't breathe, much less scream, and passed out after about thirty seconds. "I can handle it."

"Don't be ridiculous," Magnus said. "I know you Nephilim are very concerned with appearing macho and unaffected at all times, but you're hurting. You turn about three shades whiter every time you so much as twitch. I can fix that so you don't have trouble sleeping. Try not to move."

"You keep saying that like you expect me to get up and run a marathon."

"I wouldn't put it past you." Magnus stood and, out of the corner of his eye, Alec saw a faint blue glow emanating from his hand. "You're going to have to lose the quilt for a minute." Alec frowned, but did as he was told. "This might feel weird, but it shouldn't hurt. If it does, I've probably just rearranged your organs."

"Oh, that's comforting," Alec said dryly – and then had to force himself not to jump from surprise when Magnus placed his palm flat on Alec's chest, muttered something, and swept his hand down across his stomach, leaving a strange tingling in his wake. The feeling rapidly spread through his body, then ebbed with the same speed. The pain softened. Now, Alec found, he could curl up on his side without his body complaining too much, and he did so as Magnus tossed the quilt over him again and sat back down. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Now that he wasn't sore, sleep was becoming a viable option. He could remember not wanting to fall asleep last time, not wanting Magnus to leave him. Looking back, it was almost startling to realize how painfully lonely he'd been. He hadn't known anyone besides his parents, his siblings, and Hodge, and his closest friend was a cat. The only addition to his life since was Jace, which wasn't exactly much in terms of progress. Maybe he was still almost as lonely and just hadn't noticed it. There was no other explanation for why he didn't want the warlock to go – he really didn't have anyone else right now and, Shadowhunter prejudices aside, maybe Magnus _would_ be a good friend. _Friend, nothing more_, he reminded himself. _He doesn't mean it when he flirts with you. He probably does that with everyone._

The silly, immature part of him wanted to ask if Magnus actually believed they could be friends, but he didn't voice that thought. He was getting better at not saying the first thing that came to mind. When he was this tired, though, his mouth ran away with him – and the second thing that came to mind wasn't much better than the first. "I _did_ like it, you know," he mumbled, carefully smoothing out a wrinkle in the pillowcase instead of looking at Magnus.

"You liked what, darling?"

For once, it was the rational half of his mind that was yelling at him to shut up before he embarrassed himself further, but the emotional half was full speed ahead and he figured he might as well go all the way. "Your hair. With the purple in it. I liked it." Then he added, "But I'm not going to call you," just so Magnus didn't get the wrong idea.

"I suppose I can live with that," Magnus said. He leaned towards Alec until there were only a few inches between their faces. Up close, his eyes were _stunning_ – bright green in the center, radiating out into a brilliant gold. Alec caught himself wondering if his eyes would shine in the dark the same way a cat's did. "Just as long as you remember where I live."

Alec swallowed. "I won't forget."

"Good."

There was one more thing that had been nagging at the back of his mind. "How much do I owe you?"

"I'm sorry?"

"For healing me," Alec clarified.

"Oh." Magnus bit his lip thoughtfully, and Alec's stomach turned in a not-entirely-unpleasant way. "I don't think you owe me anything."

"What? But you – I –"

Magnus cut Alec off before he could start babbling. "You don't owe me anything," he said firmly.

Alec shook his head so fast that his neck popped, which made little flashes of light explode in front of his eyes. "But you _healed me_. You told me you had to do a lot, I _have_ to owe you…" Something came to mind then, something he'd overheard years ago and had since forgotten. "You didn't make my father pay you, either," he realized, "back when I was little. My mom asked him – after she'd spent about three hours screaming at him – she asked how much it cost, and he said he called you to find out and you told him 'Nothing'."

"Oh," Magnus said again. "I remember that." He grinned. "I'd never had a nine-year-old flirt with me before. That was payment enough, really."

If any more blood rushed to his face, Alec was pretty sure there wouldn't be enough left over for his heart to keep pumping. "I wasn't _trying_ to flirt," he insisted weakly. "I was just… you were nice to me." His headache was coming back with reinforcements. He closed his eyes and muttered, "I was _nine_."

Magnus didn't say anything for a long moment. Then Alec felt his fingers brush along his forehead, unsticking his sweaty hair from his skin. "You know," he said softly, "I thought you'd turn out to be as arrogant and self-centered as most Shadowhunters I've known. How wrong I was…. Listen, you don't owe me _anything_. I healed you because you fascinate me and I want to get to know you better and I can't do that if you're dead, not because I was expecting any sort of compensation. I don't _want_ you to be indebted to me, understand?"

"Okay," Alec breathed. Arguing with Magnus when he'd already made up his mind was clearly going to get him nowhere. "Okay. I get it."

"Excellent." He took his hand away from Alec's face, and Alec had only a moment to lament the loss of contact before Magnus pressed his lips to his forehead.

Neither of them moved for what felt like a very long time. Judging by the number of breaths Alec took – he had to keep reminding himself _to_ breathe – it wasn't more than ten seconds. He had no idea how to react, so he stayed silent and still and didn't chase the fleeting thought that maybe it wouldn't be so bad if Magnus kissed him for real.

But then there were footsteps out in the hall, coming closer and closer, and Alec was suddenly finding it _extraordinarily_ difficult to stay awake. Magnus, he suspected, had an ulterior motive for everything. His thoughts had become so murky that he almost couldn't find the words he wanted, but he managed to fish them out of the mire to slur, "Damn it… stop putting me to sleep."

Magnus pulled back, touched Alec's cheek. When he spoke, Alec could hear him smiling. "Good night, darling."

"MAG – Magnus!" Isabelle caught herself mid-word and lowered her voice to a whisper, apparently under the impression that Alec was sleeping (which he wasn't, but only because he was tenaciously clinging to his waning consciousness). "How is he?"

"He'll survive," Magnus said. Something on his clothing clinked softly as he stood. "He woke up for a bit – all his faculties seem to be intact. Sometimes Greater Demon poison can… mess people up a bit."

"How many people do you know who've been poisoned by a Greater Demon?"

"Enough. Now listen." Magnus's voice took on a clipped, businesslike tone. "He shouldn't have any more problems as long as he gets some proper rest, but if he starts having trouble breathing, you need to call me _immediately_…" They'd been moving towards the door as he spoke, and as they rounded the corner and started down the hall, Isabelle's response was lost.

Alec's head throbbed, but he made the effort to open his eyes again anyway. The room looked horribly drab without Magnus there. He'd always hated the infirmary – there was never any _good_ reason to be hanging around in here, and it was easily the most boring, dreary room in the entire Institute. Putting Magnus inside was like splashing paint over a plain white canvas. Now that he'd gone, Alec felt alone and strangely empty, as if he had lost something he hadn't known he'd needed in the first place.

There was a stray red sparkle on the sheet. Alec touched it and it clung to his finger. Last time, he'd collected each and every piece of glitter the same way, gathering the only evidence that the warlock hadn't just been a figment of his subconscious. He smiled slightly, flicked it away, and, with some work, managed to roll onto his stomach without his quilt sliding off his shoulders.

_My life_, he thought, _is fucking weird._

And then he let sleep take him.

* * *

Hello, fluff and sap, my good friends. I've missed you so.

And now I will attempt to write the chaptered angsty fic I've been trying to get underway all summer. I finally just got the outline done. *headdesk*

Reviews are highly appreciated!


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